The Gift
by Jael the Scribe
Summary: Gilraen summons Legolas to Rivendell for an ending to an unusual love story. Canon character death.


Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

My thanks and gratitude go to my beta for this story, Lexin.

**The Gift**

_When you are old and grey and full of sleep,_

_And nodding by the fire, take down this book,_

_And slowly read, and dream of the soft look_

_Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;_

_W. B. Yeats, from When You Are Old (1892)_

**Part One: The Summons**

The courier from the western edge of the forest ran across the bridge, up to the stone gates and was granted immediate admittance. He made his way through twisting corridors of stone, not stopping to make himself presentable before seeking out the library, where he found the one he sought, deep in a book.

"A rider from Imladris brought this to the Forest Gate three days ago, Prince Legolas," he said, holding out a letter bearing the seal of Lord Elrond himself. "He said it was for you and to waste no time in delivering it to your hand."

Legolas took the parchment, broke the seal and frowned as he read. He folded the letter and stuffed it into his tunic as he rose and headed out the door.

"Is there any answer, my Lord?"

"No. Go have a hot meal, a bath and a night's rest. I will carry the answer myself." At the door he turned. "Before you take your ease, will you send a messenger to the stables and have my horse made ready? You have my thanks."

His father was in his inner chamber, busy over some accounts, as Legolas had expected. Thranduil looked up with an expectant smile as his son entered.

"My Lord Father, I ask your leave to ride to Rivendell immediately."

Thranduil furrowed his brow. "By your face, my son, I fear this request is a mere formality. You have the look of one who will go with or without my consent."

"Forgive me, _Adar_. I mean to go regardless. But I would go with a far less heavy heart if I had your blessing and your consent."

"A heavy heart it looks to be indeed, my son," said Thranduil. The remnants of his smile faded to concern. "_Havo dad_, Legolas. At least take the time to tell me what was in that letter from Elrond that it should send you off so quickly during the month of _Gwaeron_, when you might still encounter snow in the pass."

Legolas raised an eyebrow at the mention of the letter.

"Do not be so surprised, my son. You have never been able to hide anything from me, and you never shall, no matter how hard you try. Especially when it happens in my own palace." He sighed. "Now, what is all this about?"

"The package bore Lord Elrond's seal, and there was a note in it from him. But the letter was from the Lady Gilraen, daughter of Dírhael. She wishes my presence at the earliest opportunity."

"The Lady Gilraen?" Thranduil ventured. "That would be the Dúnadan woman, the mother of your ranger friend."

Legolas nodded.

"And that would also be the woman I met when you and I last visited the house of Elrond thirteen years ago this past midsummer. The woman on whom your gaze fell constantly when you thought no one was watching, yet whose eyes you would not meet."

Legolas let out an unhappy sound.

"My son, every time you visit Imladris, you return with the weight of a hundred more winters in your eyes, and there is a sadness in you that grows. Is it any wonder I am reluctant to have you go there now? Can this not wait, at least until the spring?"

"It cannot. The rider from Rivendell made it over the pass, and so should I, but if there is a snowfall, I will leave my horse with the Beornings and go on foot As for the hundred extra seasons, my shoulders will have to bear the weight, for I am going to Rivendell with or without your permission." Legolas paused, and his next words were a sigh of pain. "_Ada_, she is dying."

ooo

**Part Two: Candor**

_And bending down beside the glowing bars,_

_Murmur a little sadly, how Love fled_

_And paced upon the mountains overhead_

_And hid his face amid a crowd of stars._

_W. B. Yeats, from When You Are Old (1892)_

Legolas galloped over the bridge at Rivendell and clattered into the courtyard. To his dismay, it was Elrond himself who came out to meet him.

"We had not expected you to arrive so soon," said Elrond. "I almost wish you had taken your time, for she means not to take her leave until you are here."

"Where is she?" Legolas said, forgetting courtesy.

"She is in her quarters. You know the way well enough. I will leave you to it." Elrond made as if to turn away but then spoke again. "I am sorry, Legolas. This is a great sorrow to me as well."

He knew the path to Gilraen's quarters well. He had taken it with Aragorn many a time during the past seventy years. He knocked at her door and entered.

She was seated beside the window, but she rose when he came in. She was a hundred years old, but the blood of Númenor had not allowed the hand of time to be as cruel as it might otherwise have been. Her dark hair was shot with grey, and the slender body was a little stooped, but her face retained the grave beauty of her youth. She smiled. "Legolas, you are here."

"I don't understand. They said . . . You said you were . . ."

"I am, Legolas."

"You do not look ill," he said. "You are as beautiful as the day I first set eyes on you."

"I thought the eyes of the elves were keen," she said, gently chiding. " I am old, and I am weary. And yes, Legolas, I am ill. It is a secret malady. I will not trouble you with the details. Lord Elrond's leechcraft could keep me alive for a few more years, but to what purpose? I would be in great pain much of that time and wandering in my wits from his potions. Fortunately, I have enough of the blood of Númenor in my veins to choose the time and manner of my passing. And this, I mean to do."

"Then stay but a little. I will seek out Aragorn, no matter where he is, and I will bring him back here to you."

"Legolas, I have already said my farewells to my son. I see a time of darkness coming soon. Aragorn will prevail and reclaim his rightful heritage, or he will not. The world of men and elves will be preserved, or it will fail and pass into shadow. I have not the heart to see it through, for both roads are fraught with pain and sorrow for those who travel them. They are for the young or for those who are immortal. I am neither. I take comfort in the promise you made me all those long years ago. Whatever doom my son faces, he will have you, his friend, beside him."

"And to that I hold," Legolas said softly.

"You may regret that promise and find it bitter at the end," she said, turning from him. "This is why I called for you. I have yet another favor to ask, and you may like it even less. But first, let us sit and talk for a while. I am not such a churl that I would have you attend a deathbed immediately upon a hard ride from Mirkwood. And there are things that must be said between us."

Her mention of a deathbed struck Legolas hard, and it was his turn to hide his face from her. He found himself staring at a newly completed tapestry on her wall, and he realized that for the first time in all the years he had known her, there was not another one in progress on her embroidery frame.

"This is a new one," he said, trying to make pleasant conversation despite his distress.

"It depicts the aftermath of the fall of Gondolin. Do you like it?"

"I ever admire your needlework," he said earnestly, "but I think this is the very best. There is Glorfindel fighting the Balrog. And there is Laiqalassë of The House of the Tree leading the survivors to safety." He peered closer and drew his breath in sharply. "You have given him my face!"

He whirled around to see her smiling slyly. "Glorfindel tells me that the features are not too dissimilar to the Laiqalassë of old. Do you mind?"

"No, I . . . Thank you, Gilraen." He cleared his throat to regain his composure. "Of course, when it hangs in Elrond's chamber of memories with all the others, Elladan and Elrohir will tease me unmercifully."

"I think this time they will not. If they do, you may tell them on my behalf to stop." She took her chair by the window, poured two glasses of wine and beckoned for Legolas to join her.

After the first sip he said, "Can you not reconsider, Lady Gilraen? Stay yet to sew one more tapestry? You could depict brave Legolas of Mirkwood saving young Estel from a band of orcs."

"I'm not supposed to know about that," she reminded him with a laugh.

"I do not care. You can even do a portrait of elfling Legolas in his little coat of mithril, just as long as you stay to do it." Try as he might, he could not keep the note of distressed pleading out of his voice.

She smiled sadly. "You elves are so silly. Elrond is taking this as badly as you are. You'd think the immortal First Born would have more sense when it comes to the plan of Ilúvatar. The Doom of Men is a gift. You _Eldar_ are such brave warriors, yet you quail at the thought of an old woman dying peacefully in her bed.

"Still," she continued, "there was one tapestry I should have liked to have done. It was a hard story to put into a picture, so perhaps I should tell it to you."

"I would rather see it worked by your hand," he said.

"Let me describe it and you can be the judge. It involves a woman who mourned a dead husband. He was her first love, and there would never be another like him in her eyes."

Legolas took a sip of his wine and stared out the window. Snow was melting from a tree branch, and a slow, steady procession of drops fell from the tip of one leaf onto the moist ground. He watched as the droplets fell one by one, rolling down the slope toward the Bruinen.

"In time this woman became aware that another young man had grown fond of her. He was very handsome, and he was very kind, and she knew that he could make her very happy for the rest of her days if she would only let him."

More drops fell, in a hypnotic procession. Legolas was not sure he wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"There was only one problem. She was of the _Edain_, and he was of the _Eldar_, who mate for life and eternity. She would grow old and die and join her true love, and he would be left alone to mourn until the breaking of the world. That was the choice before her. She could have happiness for herself, even bliss, but it would come at a price to one she cared for deeply."

Drip . . .drip . . .drip. "What made her think the young man would not mourn anyway?"

"Without a consummation, there would be no bond. In time, and the _Eldar_ have time aplenty, there was still a chance for him to find his true love. She could only pray that this would be so. This is a sad story, is it not?"

"A very sad story," he agreed. "It would have made a lovely tapestry, but I do not think I would have liked to see it hanging in Elrond's chamber."

He drained his glass, refilled it, and drained it again. "You knew."

"Of course I knew."

He looked at her almost fiercely for he would only get the chance to say it the once. "I loved you, Gilraen. Despite everything, I would have wed with you. I would have filled your days with joy."

"I know. And I would have made you miserable."

"Well, _Hiril vuin_, I am not so very happy now, am I?" he said softly.

"You will live through it, Legolas."

"Aye, Gilraen, that I will. That I must."

"I'm sorry, Legolas. I have wounded you deeply. I have come to understand that we mortals are not very good for you _Eldar_. Your spirits are like the cool steady light from the moon, while ours are like a fire that blazes hot for a short time and then goes out. We leave you burned."

"And yet there are those who gladly risk the flame," he said, trying hard not to let the emotion he felt creep into his voice.

"You speak of Arwen. My son tells me it was you who counseled him not to give up his hope for her, even against the advice of Lord Elrond and myself. She truly loves him. She has made her choice. So be it. But her choice was the gift of Ilúvatar. She is of the _Peredhil. _If she is bound to Aragorn, she will be allowed to follow him into death, not a life of eternal grief. How could I do this to you and then go gladly to my Arathorn?"

He shut his eyes and sighed. "I know now why I love Aragorn so much, born of such a mother. Your courage puts mine to shame."

For a time, he was silent, listening to the soft wind sighing through the trees and the rush of the waters below.

"So," he said, at last, with a forced attempt at cheer, "what was this favor you would ask of me?"

"Tonight, after you have rested, we will dine at Lord Elrond's table one last time. We will drink and we will sing the old songs. And tomorrow, since my son is not here, I want you, his friend to attend me on my last couch. You, and Lord Elrond"

Legolas stared at her in stunned silence. "Gilraen, you ask too much of me."

"You will be asked to do harder things before these dark days end, Legolas. Unless fate plays out strangely, you will have to see your friend Aragorn die some day as well. Will you have the courage then? It is a hard thing I ask, but it is also a gift to you. To you and to Elrond, that you may see that there is nothing to fear in Ilúvatar's blessing to the Second Born. Will you do this for me?"

He stared down at his own hands for a long time before trusting himself to speak. "Aye, my Lady. Since it is your will, I can show no less courage than you."

ooo

**Part Three: Mettanyë**

Legolas had always been able to sleep the true sleep in the house of Elrond. He awoke at the first light of dawn, but he kept his eyes closed, not wishing for the day to begin. The winter thrushes sang their dawn song and then began to twitter outside his window as they hopped about the melting snow pecking at the remains of fallen berries and crumbs that the elves had thrown. The household staff was up and about. Legolas could hear their voices in the hallway outside his door. Yet his eyes stayed shut.

At last there came a knock at his door.

"Yes? Enter," Legolas called out from the bed. He threw a pillow over his face as an elven footman stepped cautiously inside.

"Lord Elrond enquires as to when you will be breaking your fast, my Lord. He and his sons have finished eating, but there is still food set out in the dining hall."

"Very well. I shall be there presently." Legolas rose from the bed, realizing he could not delay any further. He washed, dressed and made his way to the dining hall, where he found an array of fruit, bacon and hot porridge set out on a sideboard. He picked up an apple and had two bites before he realized he had no appetite whatsoever.

There was a pall over Rivendell that day. He could feel it in the hushed tones and the averted eyes of the elves as he made his way to the courtyard outside Gilraen's apartments. He found Elrond already there, along with Elrohir and a strangely quiet Elladan. Two waiting ladies emerged from Gilraen's door and nodded to Elrond.

"All is in readiness, my Lords. Lady Gilraen is abed and awaits you."

A strange feeling of unreality washed over Legolas then. This was like a bizarre bridal night, but what bridal ever involved two bridegrooms? Then it hit him. He and Elrond were merely the witnesses to the bedding. Death was the husband who would claim the bride this day.

_'I cannot do this_,' Legolas told himself as he and Elrond stood together before the door. '_I cannot go into that room and watch her die.' _Whatever was Lord Elrond waiting for, he wondered in annoyance, and he glanced to his side to see the older man standing frozen beside him. Elrond's eyes showed the same paralysis of will that Legolas was feeling.

_'Six thousand years or more he has lived, and he is just as unnerved about this as I am,' _Legolas thought, and a feeling of calm descended upon him. He reached for the door and entered.

A narrow bed had been placed in the center of the room, and Gilraen lay upon it, under a soft wool coverlet that came up to her chest. Her hair was unbound and she was dressed in a white shift. She smiled as the two men entered.

Legolas drew up a chair to her side and sat down. On his face was a gentle smile, for no sadness was going to trouble this lady any further. Elrond sat down on the other side of her.

"Legolas, you are standing proxy for my son in his absence. If there are any decisions to be made later, I give you the authority to make them. Now, give me your hand, for now that we are at the end, I need some of your courage."

Legolas took her right hand between his own. In all the years he had known her, this was the first time he had held her hand, or even touched her. "And you, Elrond," she said, holding out her left.

"Are you sure of this, Gilraen?" Elrond asked.

"I am tired today, so very tired," she replied. "The time is right. I will say to you, Elrond, what I said to Legolas so many years ago. _Onen I-Estel Edain, u-cheben estel anim. _I give hope to men. I keep none for myself. Legolas, look after him for me."

With that, she shut her eyes and a look of concentration came over her face. Legolas felt her grip tighten on his hand.

_'I am Legolas Thranduilion, prince of Mirkwood_, _scion of the House of Oropher,' _he chanted to himself. '_I am strong. I am brave. I will not falter. I will not fail this woman who has placed her trust in me. I am Legolas Thranduilion . . .' _

All at once, Gilraen's eyes opened wide and her face was suffused with an expression of unearthly joy. "Arathorn . . . " she cried. She closed her eyes and fell into sleep. Her breath left her in a sigh and she did not breathe in again. Legolas felt the pressure of her hand relax around his own.

Legolas heard a sob, which, much to his surprised relief, did not issue from himself. He looked to see Lord Elrond's eyes glistening with a strange brightness. The two elves' eyes met for a long moment in shared awe.

"That was . . ." Elrond began.

Legolas could only nod, for his throat had clogged and his own eyes were prickling.

"The grace and beauty of her youth are revealed in her again," Elrond continued solemnly. "I behold an image of the splendor of the Kings and Queens of old, in glory undimmed before the breaking of the world."

Again, Legolas could only nod. When he finally could trust his voice, he raised her hand to his forehead and murmured, "_Giril hîdh nen gurth_." He kissed the fingertips lightly and laid her hand back on her breast. With that, he turned from her and went out into the light of day.

"Are you all right, Legolas?" Elrohir asked. Elladan was still strangely quiet.

Legolas could only shake his head. "It was not so very bad, really." Of all the sad things this day, seeing the twins so subdued was among the most disturbing.

"You need your friends about you, Legolas," Elrohir said.

"And wine, lots of it. I know that is what I shall be doing," Elladan added.

"I need both, and I will join you later," he said. "But first, I would like to be alone for a little while."

He left the paths and wandered a short distance into the trees. He found a rock and sat down upon it. This was a good place. He would tell Lord Elrond about it later.

He drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, burying his head and rocking slowly. As he rocked he sang a song of his own making. He sang it to the rock and to the trees and to the very earth so that they would hear and remember until all the world had changed beyond recognition, that someday a poet with the soul of the Siddhe might, visiting that spot and hearing the song of the rock, might give the words life and voice again.

_How many loved your moments of glad grace,_

_And loved your beauty with love false or true,_

_But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,_

_And loved the sorrows of your changing face;_

The End

ooooooo

A/N The final stanza is also from W.B. Yeats' 1892 poem, "When You Are Old"

This story, again, is movie verse, ending a thread begun in 'Keeping Hope Alive.' In the books, Gilraen died at the age of 100 while her son was away, busy with other matters, but it was said that she had returned to her people. In the movie, her grave is at Rivendell, indicating she died there, and of course, this was the 'good place' where Legolas sat and sang his song.

Most of the Sindarin phrases are well known or apparent from context, but two need translation:

_Hiril vuin_: Beloved Lady

_Giril hîdh nen gurth_: May you find peace in death


End file.
